


Make The Wrong In Me All Right

by master_riku



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Comfort Sex, Crying, F/F, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Sex, Love, Multiple Orgasms, Naminé-centric (Kingdom Hearts), Purple Prose, Romance, Smut, Submission, Vaginal Fingering, olette is a badass and i love her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22300711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/master_riku/pseuds/master_riku
Summary: Naminé didn't really like kissing while she was crying. But sometimes it was less about what she liked, and more about what she needed. And oh, did she need...
Relationships: Naminé/Olette (Kingdom Hearts), namilette
Kudos: 15





	Make The Wrong In Me All Right

**Author's Note:**

> my first attempt at wlw, with a rarepair that deserves some love. so, uh, slainté!

Naminé didn't really like kissing while she was crying. But sometimes it was less about what she liked, and more about what she needed. And _oh,_ did she _need._

She _needed_ the kiss, with its sharpness like coffee and nutmeg cutting through the salt and tears.

She needed the heat of that tongue pushing into her mouth, filling her up and claiming her in some inescapable way; the lips no longer soft but forceful against her own, driving away question after question under the onslaught; the hot breath clashing with hers until she wasn't sure there was any air left in the world nor any reason to breathe at all, until the last speck of coherency was set ablaze and turned to ash in the incandescent pyre of her anguish.

And, too, she needed to see the passion in those voltaic green eyes, snapping with ferocity and desire as they pinned her in a way no physical thing could, holding her immobile against the wall, charging her stuttering pulse with tense static. It thumped in her chest heavily now, a counterpart to the crackling hum.

Then the calloused hands, teasing and harsh in turns on her heated skin as they took her apart piece by piece, stripping her down and smoothing over every exposed inch.

She needed them to spread her out, spread her open, keep her from curling in on herself in her despair--she needed her body laid as bare as her heart, naked limbs wrenched apart and held back against the rough stone of the wall, nerves raw but yearning to be pushed further.

And when curvaceous hips bucked into her own--a bruising, grinding force--Naminé needed _more_ in a way she could never articulate.

But somehow Olette knew.

When things got to be too much, Olette didn't try to stop it; she took it even further. She suffused Naminé's world with unyielding _more_ until there was nothing left but but a heady daze of lights and heat and pleasure zinging up her spine and out to her limbs, clouding her head with citrine-blue fog.

The deft fingers explored each delicate curve and sensitive dip, molding to Naminé's shape and drawing out muffled cries between her sobs. They squeezed and pressed and gripped so demandingly in the face of her vulnerability that it wore down the rough edges of her weathered soul.

It wasn't gentle, not in these moments. Olette didn't make the mistake of treating her like the doll she was so tired of pretending to be, tucked away on a shelf to stay perfect and pristine and delicate.

Instead it was messy and full of life, like a white canvas finally taken down from the wall and audaciously splattered with vivid blues and greens; swirling intricacies of untamed fractals stark on the immaculate blankness. Naminé felt those hues spread out behind her closed eyes, her listless spirit stained with vibrancy and bursting with prismatic newness as if under the ardent hands of a would-be painter.

"All the way," Olette rasped out against Naminé's neck. "All the way open, love. Let me all the way in."

Naminé did.

Knees gone weak, now held up by little more than her lover's weight against her, Naminé lifted a leg and Olette pressed her own in harder to pin it, keep it spread. Olette didn't work out every day for nothing.

Her fists clenched where Olette had them held against the wall with one hand and her head thunked into the stone as the insistent fingers of the other shoved deeper inside her. All discomfort swirled away with the rest of the sensations.

Naminé couldn't help the squirming and gasping as Olette finally gave attention to her clit, too, grinding her palm down with every pass. She was so responsive already, she realised, another shock of pleasure reverberating up her spine and pushing her closer to the edge. Her own fervour always took her by surprise.

She arched up, tears long forgotten in the chase.

Her first orgasm wrenched its way out of her without warning--a sudden build and sharp release almost as acute as pain.

 _"Oh!"_ was all she managed before her muscles tensed and melted and tensed again, her stuttering breath stolen from her.

Olette hummed in satisfaction at Naminé's cry. But she didn't stop.

Each thrust of Olette's fingers filled Naminé up in time with the pulses of her climax and sent her higher, and each time the heel of Olette's hand dug into her most sensitive spot, she jolted and shuddered and whined. It wasn't fast, but it was relentless and deep.

Olette wouldn't let her come back down, and in a minute that felt like an endless hour, the overstimulation transitioned her seamlessly into another building orgasm.

Her wrists were finally released as Olette focused her full attention on her steady pace and Naminé grasped at Olette's shoulders as her hands found their freedom, heedless of the pinprick tingles as blood rushed back in.

Scrabbling desperately, she pulled Olette into another messy kiss, breaking her lover's fierce concentration. She didn't care--she was desperate to taste, desperate for every sensation and every ounce of closeness. 

Olette indulged her, murmuring praise between each messy press of their lips, and kept her ever spread open. She picked up the pace of her invasive fingers and Naminé clenched around them involuntarily as a particularly hard thrust slammed into her and Olette licked into her mouth at the same time, claiming her, filling her in every way possible.

The second time Naminé came, she felt it approaching but it was no less intense. If anything, it was more. Olette must have felt it coming, too, and pulled back from the kiss to bury her face in Naminé's neck, mouthing at the sensitive skin just under her ear.

How often did Olette get off just from this? It seemed like a lot. Someday she'd have to ask.

"Naminé." Desperation laced the sweet voice that dropped low, whispering her name in implicit command.

But every noise felt far away, out swimming with the thoughts she'd long abandoned. Her own name barely sounded real, even spoken with such an angelic voice.

Colour and sound merged into one and faded in the wake of the white rushing filling her ears, pounding in time to her heartbeat, or was it to the inexorable clenching muscles of her orgasm?

With one last bruising push of her hand, eliciting something of a groaning scream, Olette finally pulled back, pulled her fingers out, and left Naminé empty.

 _Blissfully_ empty. Empty of worry, empty of coherency, empty of all despondency.

Just like that, the implacable need was placated.

Naminé was burning up in the afterglow, she thought, and then immediately she was chilled, like her body couldn't decide. But that was okay, because her entire body was floating somewhere away from her mind, and that disconnected feeling couldn't be tempered or hindered by mere temperature.

Warm, strong arms came around her, though, and arrested a forward motion she hadn't realised was happening. She melted into Olette's arms and felt herself cradled, lifted, carried.

It had only taken two, this time, the thought idly passed by. That was something of a mercy. Once it had taken seven in a row, and even with Olette trading out hands for tongue halfway through, Naminé had been sore for ages.

Was Olette getting better at this? Or was Naminé just...getting better? Did she dare to get her hopes up, even here, in this space between?

Perhaps it didn't matter, after all.

A gentle sigh left her as she felt herself set down on something soft and tucked under a blanket and she curled forward into the body that crawled in next to her.

"There you are, love. I've got you."

"Olette," Naminé breathed the name, just to hear it in her own voice, feel it settle on her own lips. There was never any room for words in the height of sensation. But now she could enjoy it.

In these moments, Naminé finally craved the softness and care that Olette was so ready to pour out. It felt earned. She didn't feel worshipped anymore; she simply felt seen.

Hands turned soothing and soft now rubbed small, comforting circles on Naminé's back.

"I'm here," Olette murmured sweetly, tucking her face into Naminé's hair to kiss her sweat-drenched temple. "I'm here."

The _need_ was gone, for now, and in its wake it was finally enough to simply _be._


End file.
